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SONNETS AND SONGS 



BY y 



ELISABETHE DUPUY 






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u ^7- 2- f V 



NEW YORK 

JOHN B. ALDEN, PUBLISHER 
1890 






K^''A^ 



V 



Copyright, 

1890, 

By ELIZABETHE DUPUY. 



TO 

SIR PHILIP SIDNEY. 



CONTENTS. 





PAGE. 


The Deserted House, - 


7 


Her White Shape 'gainst the Amethyst, 


8 


Mercury the Sparkler, - 


8 


Hope's Return, 


9 


The Moonlit Avenue, - - - 


9 


The Garden Theatre, 


10 


TheOzarks, - - . . 


10 


Green April-tide, - - - 


11 


The Harbor, - . - . 


11 


The Spirit's Cry, - 


12 


The Red Rising Moon, - 


13 


The Desolate Heart, - 


14 


'• Whenever the moon," etc., - 


15 


Hesper, - . - . 


15 


Monbars, - - . . 


16 


From the Sand-hills and the Sea, - 


17 


The Cuckoo's Call, 


18 


The Unheeding Gods— Triolet, 


18 


The Wonder World, - 


19 


Remember Me, 


20 


Proserpine, - - - - 


21 


When Roses Scattered Lie, 


22 


Alas, Alas ! - - 


22 


I Envy the Men— Triolet, - 


23 


Gold Hair. .... 


24 


Lily and Roses— Triolet, - 


25 


A Lover Wild and Pale, 


26 



CONTENTS, 

PAGE. 

Endymion*s Love Song, - - - 27 

In the Park, 28 

''The Season of Dews and Stars "-— Ballata, 29 

Invocation to Sorrow — Rondel, - - 29 

Golden Castile, 30 

Love Song, ----- 31 

An Autumn Petition, - - - - 32 

The Hills of Lynn, - - - - 33 

The Wood Nymph, - - - - 34 

Ballata, - - - '- - 35 

The Flight of Hope, - - - - 36 

A Song of the Sea, - . . 36 

Transitory — Rondel, - - - - 37 

At the Cathedral Door, - - . 37 

Twilight Silhouettes, - - - - 38 

Out of Tune— Rondel, - - - 39 

The Shadows, 39 

The Queen's Marie, - - - - 40 

The Wind Sprite, ... . 41 

Twain — the Double Stars, - - - 42 

'' God of Destiny," etc., - - - 42 

The Chorister, .... 43 

The Rose, . - . . 44 

The Moon-flower, - - - - 46 



THE DRAGON YOKE. 

SONNETS. 



THE DESEKTED HOUSE. 

Dark is thy dwelling; thro' the silent night 
The shadow o'er its desolate threshold swings, 
And on the icy eaves the low moon flings 

The sudden fire of its re-risen light, 

Upon the frosty windows glancing white, 
And to the pallor of the peaked roof clings ; 
In the bare boughs the wind like a bugle rings 

And on the glittering drifts wreaks its despite : 

Alas, my darling, alas, my roving one, 
That wandereth far away from love and me. 

When will the skies bring back a warmer sun 
And summer winds, whispering sweet thoughts to 
thee. 

Woo thee again to thine enchanted West 
And to the refuge of this soft fond breast ? 



SONNETS. 



HER WHITE SHAPE 'GAINST THE AMETHYST. 

Not, not alone in old and fabled fanes, 
Where kings are crowned and mailed knights repose 
(In smooth marble commemorate, as on those 

Pale monoliths which watch the Persian plains), 

But also in the city's peopled mains 
Dwelleth that spirit mystical : where throws 
The moon her aureole, and silvery shows 

Her white shape 'gainst the amethyst campagne; 

And where aspiring boughs, Oh, pale and fair, 
Roof the still way with canopy of laves, 

Where the thin wavering shadow ofttimes falls, 
There dwelleth the Divine : one passing there 

In seeming treads, entranced, Olympian halls. 



MERCURY THE SPARKLER. 

Quick as the shadows fall, with winged flight 
He drives his milky flocks to fields afar, 
And long before the Wain, on noiseless bar 

Thro' half its arc has turned, along the height 

Has pastured them; 'tis he that steals the light 
From misty mead and hill, and every star, 
And horned Astarte in her golden car, 

Lures down the blue abysm toward the night. 

Fair Herald of the winged cap and feet, 

Thou of each shy and nimble thought the god. 
Who art the source of fancies light and fleet. 



THE MOONLIT AVEUNE. 



Come thou and touch the dull and earthy clod 
With thy caduceus, and my soul inspire 
With thy resistless, ever-soaring fire I 



HOPE'S RETURIIT. 

Black was the night, and ever in my dream 

A skeleton sat grimly by my bed ; 

Without, the air was peopled with the dead, 
The wind's voice was in semblance like the scream 
Which echoes o'er Cocytus' pallid stream; 

And evermore the phantom at my head 

Smiled ghastly on me ; methought also he fed 
Upon my heart; most keen his fang did seem: 
But as beset and tortured thus I lay. 

It seemed as tho' the fearful clouds were rent, 
And lo ! a rainbow, stretched from heaven to me; 

Sweet harps and cymbals then began to play, 
Whereat an angel his white pinions bent 

Adown the blue, and kissed me joyously. 



THE MOONLIT A7ENUE. 

This is the portico of that great fane 
Which is the temple where my muse doth dwell 
What time she deigns to bless me with the spell 

Of her mysterious power; the shining plane 

Lies there, and there my weary spirit fain, 
Down-sinking" in the light as in a well. 
Would linger lulled forever by the swell 

Of winds that voice our human joy and pain: 



10 SONNETS. 

Yon columned trees are made for sculptured walls, 
The leafless boughs for indentated roof; 

Sad music murmurs thro' these broken halls 
And here the moonlight weaves its shining woof, 

And shapes of leaf and pendant spray it throws 

To flutter in each idle wind that blows. 



THE GARDEN THEATEE. 

A EOSE, a garden and a handsome face, 
Sweet Juhet's hour and Romeo near by, 
The moon a silvery beacon flaming high, 

And silvery echoes sounding in its trace; 

Where thick and dim the green boughs interlace, 
Wherewith soft languishment the breezes sigh 
And crystal stars biu-n in a sapphire sky. 

And forms of bright similitude and grace 
Move in the pageantry of rainbow hues, 

Like tulips dancing in a drowsy wind : 
And then anon they sang of youth and love, 
(Girl-dancers all, in fluttering reds and blues) : 

Oh Love, so fell thine arrows keen and kind, 
Like meteors flashing from the blue above. 



THE OZARKS. 

Still deck thy brows with coronals of light, 
The hills I love, and woo the gilded blaze 
From hazel brakes and fields of tasseled maize, 

From sunflowers a-tremble with the flight 



THE HAKBOR. ll 

Of bobolinks that flee the autumn blight, 
From purple thistle by the tangled ways 
Woo thitherward wild sweets and let the rays 

Of tawny clouds clothe thee in raiment bright ; 

So glorified the sun has stooped to thee, 
Laid to thine amethyst a kiss of fire; 
Yet while about thee sweeps the tuneful choir 

Of birds and breezes, darkly at thy knee 
The river beats, dim as the stream of gloom 
O'er which sad souls are ferried to their doom. 

GKEEN APRIL-TIDE. 

Now is the time leaves put forth tender green,. 
And our chill streets renew former delight, 
Flaunting fresh glories on the charmed sight; 
The frogs' love-songs arise from rainpools clean, 
And vistas show dreamlike thro* misty sheen: 
This hour the sun, a giant in his might, 
Drops huge and red away, and, lo, 'tis night, 
With starry sentinels guarding the scene : 
Ah, with what homesick longing now I think 

How the hills are white with drift of dog- wood bloom, 
How in the grass frail little wind-flowers dance. 
How the robins sing in the peach-trees' spires of pink: 
At nightfall apple boughs make sweet the gloom, — 
Oh, might I breathe again that fine fragrance I 

THE HARBOR. 

Unto the stormless shelter of that bay, 
Where idly round the green and sedgy shore 
Murmuring wave to wavelet ever more 



12 SONNETS. 

Makes dreamy music thro' the sunlit day, 
And fluttering in the gold or misty ray 
White-winged sea-gulls do lightly wheel and soar 
And every snowy sail, the seas far o'er, 
Against a dim blue summit courts the gale; 

Turns he with wistful gaze; the voyage done, 
Old griefs will be forgot, and dreamfully 

His eyes survey the tranquil setting sun. 
Tho' now about him breaks the raging sea, 

His heart foreknows the danger will be past 

And into harbor he will float at last. 



THE SPIRIT'S CRY. 

When saffron morning, breaking o'er the realms of gloom 
Recalls the wandering soul again to weary life, 
I, leaving those dim scenes with care and tumult rife, 

To woo the Beautiful thro' vales where still groves loom. 

Find death's insignia first, upon the hoary tomb; 
Now ceased from sorrow and from Fate's unkindly 

strife. 
They lie forgot, nor call to arms, nor warning fife, 

Nor dawn's red beam may wake them from their dream- 
less sleep: 

Along the Orient where burns the violet, 
Still sheds the Day-star far abroad his golden fire — 
The namesake fair of him whom God in righteous 
ire 

Cast o'er the heavenly City's glittering parapet; 
Oh Lucifer, thou star of morn- illumined skies. 
How, like to thee, have I lamented Paradise! 



THE BED BISma MOOK. 13 



THE RED RISING MOOIT. 

There was none to gainsay or oppose, and therefore we 
went 
Thro' the shadow encolumned aisles, where poplar 

trees 
Made midnight, and through their spiry tops the 
breeze 
With breath of enchantment sang, and the stars, for- 
spent 
In their purple ascensions, no silvery glamourings lent. 
But dusk, deep dusk, of the hour from cock-crowing 

one, 
Hung there, and crickets creaked in the grasses dun,— 
There was none to gainsay and we wandered hither con- 
tent. 

Sweet, and thrice-sweet, the thoughts and musical dreams 
That are wrought by the magic of a rising mid-sum- 
mer moon. 
Thrice-sweet, and blended with memories tender and 
sad: 
Ah, tears! But, soft you, — the red moon is up, and 
her beams 
Bar the pathway mysterious: now o'er the ruddy pon- 
toon 
Pass, passionate pilgrims — the mid-summer moon 
makes mad. 



14 SONNETS. 



THE DESOLATE HEART. ' 

If thou, mine angel, couldst return to me 
Out of thy blest and changeless peace on high, 
This troubled heart whose unsolaced distress 
So long hath vexed the nights of loneliness, 
Mourned old bereavement with new constancy, 
And given each hour the largess of a sigh, 
No more the fool of fancies idly dreamed. 
From sorrow's servitude should be redeemed: 
And can it be that even all the bliss 
In which thy golden throne is surely set 
Hath made thy loyal heart, beloved, forget 
The pain, the grief, the agony of this ? 
Is it not rather that with yearning eyes 
Thou lookst upon me from yon soft blue akies? 



HESPEB. 16 



SONGS. 

Whenever the moon is white like this, 
I dream of a time of foregone bliss, — 

All past and done, 

With yesterday's smi ! 
The moon shines golden against the leaf,- 
The sight of its shadow brings me grief: 

All past and fled, 

Sealed up and dead ! 
The moon, like a shield in the azure sky, 
Minds me of summers long gone by,— 

All past and dead. 

And vanished I 



HESPER. 

Go not, sweet star, so soon, 

For scarce has paled the violet 

Along the east, nor yet 
Has risen o*er the hills the silver sickled moon; 

Sweet one, go not so soon I 

Dusk veils the window, sweet. 
But *neath the lilied breast 
The wistful heart, in wild unrest, 

Still throbs with passionate beat. 



16 SONGS. 

Tho' after thee should rise, 

Oh love, a myriad stars to fret 

The circling blue. Oh yet, 
Kayless would seem the night and dark the boundless 
skies. 

Shorn of the splendor of thine eyes ! 

MONBARS. 

AFTEB SEEING ME. MANTELL IN THE PLAY—: 

As I went thro' the rosy glen, 

(Oh love, so fine and fair) 
I felt the salt wind from the sea 
Blow tense against my breast and knee 

And coldly beat on cheeks and hair; 
My blood rushed quick, as fired with wine, 

(Dear love, so fair and fine.) 

As I went down the sandy beach, 

(Ah love, far o'er the sea) 
I saw the pale ships on the wave 
Come sailing from the blue concave; 

And while I gazed the heart in me 
Was thrilled with ecstasy and fear, 

(Dear love, in harbor near). 

As I went thro' the sea-ward glen. 

The waves sang, '' Come," Monbars; 

Between the white spray and the moon 

I felt me clasped in arms ef tsoon ; 

Sweet wooed the nightingales afar; 

Lo, as his mouth in rapture kissed. 

The stars swooned o'er us, thro' the mist. 



FROM THE SAND-HILLS AND THE SEA. 17 



FROM THE SAISTD-HILLS AKD THE SEA. 

Have you a pipe, liave you a flute ? 

I would you made melody — I am sad : 
The nightingales all were long since mute, 

(The song of the nightingale never was glad 

And they say that moonlight makes men mad) 
Tho' surely sorrow has maddened me, 
Sorrow for loss of joys we had, 

By the yellow sand-hills and the sea. 

Now, a happy vision last night was mine, 

As I lay sleeping on my soft bed ; 
I dreamt of the ships and the sunny brine, 

I dreamt of my dear love — long since dead; 

A darksome water went over her head, 
But I think of her oftenest, walking with me, 

Whenever the moon cleaves a pathway red 
Thro' the yellow sand-hills and the sea. 

Oh, let it be pipe or ivory flute. 

How glad soever the measure ring, 
A nd, tho' the nightingales be not mute, 

I wot of that the waves will sing ; 

I wot how her feet went wandering 
Far from the ways of love and me. 

From the flowing tide and the wavering wing, 
Far from the sand-hills and the sea 

l'envoy. 
Whenever the moon sets red in the west, 
Still does the picture return to me, — 

The shadowy beach and the boats at rest. 
The light on the sand-hills and the sea. 
2 



18 SONGS. 



THE CUCKOO'S CALL. 

Now dost thou hear the cuckoo call, 
Below the breeze-blown daffodils ? 
The bursting of the bubbling rills 

And passing of the icy pall 
He celebrates in chorals clear, 
Here in the spring-tide of the year. 

Betwixt the yellow and the green, 

The cuckoo calls ; O sweet, O sweet, 
The white-thorn blooms above the wheat ; 
The unruffled lakelet's crystal sheen 
Lies open to the azure sphere. 
Bright in the spring-tide of the year. 

But not for me young April's mirth : 
Dost thou remember how, one day, 
Thou, perjured one, didst turn away ? 

Across the heavens and the earth, 
Ah, "False" is written, as a scroll 
That grimmest demon-hands unroll. 

THE UNHEEDING GODS.— tricolet. 

You may weep, indeed, if you please. 

And make the night windy with sighs,— 
There's no such cure for disease : 
You may weep indeed if you please, 
And implore on your bended knees 
The burnished, unheeding skies ; 
You may weep indeed if you please,— 
But the gods your tears despise : 



THE WONDER WOKLD. 19 



THE WONDER WORLD. 

I DREAMT a silver star was set, 
A jewel in the sapphire sky ; 
Upon the hill-tops, dusk and high, 
The fir-trees and the cedars met 
In lines of mosque and minaret 
Against the lucid gleaming gold ; 
And in the valley, deep in shade, 
The ring-dove soft complaining made, 
And ivory flutes sweet love-notes told. 
Beneath the purpling parapet. 

I dreamt the groves did grow so sweet 

In that enchanted land of love ; 

The milk-white blossoms bent above 

The silent waters' crystal sheet ; 

The blue air throbbed with bliss complete, 

And in the still, green solitudes 

The light was like a Summer moon 

Across the yellow fields in June, 

And nightingales their clear preludes 

Sang in the grasses at our feet. 

I dreamt a palace great and fair, 
Whose towers were like the crystal, kissed 
By dawning suns, rose thro' the mist, 
With bastions sculptured on the air, 
With arch and carven column rare : 
And, gleaming on the dusk afar, 



20 SONGS. 

Its marble facades, polished white 
As snow-peaks in a frosty light ; 
And mild, lucernal, as a star, 
Each window's amethystine glare. 

Soft as the night hours slid away 
I saw green meadows turn to gold ; 
By silvery brooks the shepherd's fold 
Guarded his snowy lambs when Day 
Withdrew her irridescent ray, 
And down the violet-scented path 
Came one, a prince of high degree ; 
The same is lord of love and me ; 
His look all kind persuasion hath 
And he in A ready holds sway. 

L' ENVOY. 

This is the spirit's bright estate, 

And this that sweetheart, bard and king 

Of whose dear love, betimes and late, 

My soul doth daily strive to sing ; 

This, ere the late moon's light was spent, 

Was the sweet vision that I dreamt. 



REMEMBER ME. 

When the sweet end hath all thy fond hopes crowned, 
And mirth and song and flowers decked thee around, 

Remember me, remember me ! 
Who oft in darkest hours took thought for thee. 

Remember me I 



PROSERPINE. 21 

To those dear years, the unforgotten years, 
Wherein we shared our happiness and tears. 

Let some kind thought, fond thought return ; 
Shut not thy love within a tomb so stem, 

Let some kind thought retiu-n. 

Thou wast not wont to be so churlish cold, 
Snch hard proud looks were not thy looks of old ; 

Alas, Untrue, Untrue! 
Wilt thou let old friends be displaced by new ? 

Forsworn, Untrue! 

PROSERPIKE. 

There is a voice calls in the reeds, — 
Bo not delay ^ do not delay ^ 
Young Proserpine passes this way, — 
Do not delay, do not delay! 
So sings the soft voice in the reeds. 
So whispers in the lush gi'een water- weeds. 

She has a gilt veil to her head. 

Fair Proserpine, the dainty queen ; 

Her garments are of rustling green, 

Her short mantle of fleecy sheen ; 
About her all the stars are spread. 
And mystic suns on her their aureoles shed. 

Behold, for her in the yellow fields 
The speckled partridge whistles clear. 
And lorn frogs in the shallow weir 
Are croaking far and croaking near; 
And when the moon lifts high her shield 
The oaten pipe does tender music yield. 



SONGS. 

G-reat scarlet poppies now she strews 
And makes the low plain red with them; 
She gathers many a lily stem, 
For her white brows a diadem; 
Nor heed she that beyond the yews 
The chariot horses strain their thews. 

WHEN KOSES SCATTERED LIE. 

Hast thou forgot those golden days, 
Hast thou forgot those woodland ways, 
The flowers that blossomed red and white, 
The blue that arched the heavenly height, 
The birds that carolled high and clear. 
Hast thou forgot, hast thou forgot, my dear ? 

Hast thou forgot those shadowy walks, 
Hast thou forgot our murmured talks, 

The moon that silvery shone o'er head, 

What time the day evanished ? 
The sweet caress, the tender kiss. 
Hast thou forgot, oh love, all this ? 

Hast thou forgot, hast thou forgot, 

Is thine a heart that alters not ? 
Thy speech is cold, and colder still 
Thine eyes, that smite me with their chill, 

And I would know, beloved one. 

If thou art changed with Summer's sun. 

ALAS, ALAS ! 

That ever day should dawn so black, 

Alas, alas, my love. 
We cannot call the sunshine back. 

Or bring the blue above; 



I ENVY THE MEN. 2S 

The rain falls cold, the red leaves fly, 
The pale blooms on the trellis die. 
Winds pipe shrill and branches sigh, 
Bright summer days have all gone by, 
Alas, my love ! 

That ever the world was made so wide, 

Alas, alas, my sweet ! 
We cannot bridge the sea's salt tide, 

Or make the two ways meet; 
The ships sail east, the ships sail west, 
They seek far empires in their quest, 
They bear much treasure, all unguessed 
They take from us that we love best, 

Alas, my sweet ! 

That ever words such shape should take, 

Alas, alas my dear ! . 
How shall I by rude symbols make 

My tender feelings clear ? 
Thou hast of me sov'reign control 
Thou art of life and hope the whole, 
Then why should seas between us roll, 

Alas, my dear ! 

I ENYY THE MEN.— triolet. 

I envy the men : 

**What?'' do you wonder? 
'Tis not their beards, then. 
That I envy the men, 
But their right to say, when 

Provocation they're under, 
I envy the men, — 

Oh, you go to thunder. 



24 SONGS. 



GOLD HAIR. 



Gold Hair, Gold Hair, thou hast my soul undone; 
For of thy shining gold a web hast spun, 
Hast caught me fast within the silken snare, 
Hast strangled me with silken, shining hair. 

Thy roseleaf laughing lips, so sweet to kiss, 
They maddened me, they made me drunk with bliss; 
Not all the wine to empm-ple all the seas 
Might intoxicate men's senses, love, as these! 

Oh, have I not beneath this very moon 
Tasted such joys as made my senses swoon ? 
How oft beneath these star-pulsating skies, 
I've drowned me in the splendor of thine eyes! 

Gold Hair, and dusky eyes, wilt thou atone 

For that dark deed I did — for thee alone ? 

At midnight, when the wolf barked on the hill. 

At midnight, when the world was tranced and still. 

Barefoot I stole upon him while he slept; 
The moon, an angel, guard beside him kept; 
The moon's white fingers, cross his bare throat lay; 
I made her lustre show me how to slay. 

Oh, dark eyes amorous, hast wept for him 
Until thy splendor is eclipsed and dim ? 
Alas, to see thy hair's gold glory spread 
Above his beauty, when I left him dead ! 



LILY AND ROSES. 25 

I could have killed thee when thy satin gown 
AVas rent to staunch his dark blood trickling down : 
Hush ! Am I mad, or dreaming that thy blood 
Leaped up and stained me with its purple flood ? 

O God ! mad, mad am I, chained in this cell 
Damned, doomed forever with the fiends to dwell ! 
And thou hast done it, lily-limbed and fair, 
Hast dragged to hell with strands of golden hair! 

Before that thou wast false, in old sweet hours, 
Dwelling with me mid roses and white flowers. 
Oft have I held thee so, close to me pressed — 
Sweeter than roses, pale and soft of breast. 

Like wine the memory yet inflames my veins, 
As at a moon the sweet flood flows and wanes, 
Till sometimes hell and torture are forgot 
And naught of anything but love I wot. 

Gold Hair, is it thus and but in such wise 
The damned soul suffers, and but in this guise 
That demons come, with faces fond and fair 
Glancing from under veils of gilded hair ? 

LILY AND ROSES.— TRicoLET. 

FROM THE GARDEN SCENE IN *' BEN-MY-CHREE." 

Oil, turn thy face toward me, sweet. 

On thy cheeks bloom the lily and rose ; 

Thy lilies the moonbeams do greet, 

Oh turn thy face toward me, sweet. 

That thine eyes my fond eyes may meet, 
On tliy roses the firelight glows: 

Oh, turn thy face toward me, sweet, 

On thy cheeks bloom the lily and rose. 



SONGS. 



A LOYER WILD AND PALE. 

And now, when earthly lovers flee, 
By dawn, by dusk, who wooeth me ? 

The way o'er which the moonbeams lie, 
Or where the star opens wide its eye, 
Or where the sunset shineth red 
Upon yon oak-crowned mountain's head, 
The way whence faithless lovers flee 
Who Cometh here awooing me ? 

Pale is his face, so sweetly pale, 

With wandering locks that make a veil 

Before his wild and tender een; 

Hi^voice breathes as a harp atween 
The passionate winds that wildly blow 
Thro' groves where bristly pine-trees grow; 

He is a poet, sweetly pale 

Behind his love-locks' golden veil. 

And when he woos, his speech doth tell 
Of homes where all the voiceless dwell — 

The homes where none ere breathes a word, 
Where neither hai'p nor song is heard, 
But all in peace they lie, and keep 
Close- wrapped the veil of tranced sleep; 
For never sound may break the spell 
Of those that with the dead do dwell. 



endymion's love song. 27 

Haply some night, o'er-awed and mute, 
I'll yield me to Death's gentle suit, 

And hand-in-hand, as with a friend, 

Into the grave will I descend ; 
No more in weariness and pain, 
No more lamenting blight and rain, 

Close-clasped unto my bridegroom's breast, 

I shall take long and pleasant rest. 

ENDYMION'S LOVE SONG. 

Whose feet came over my mountains 

Between sun setting and morn ? 
She passed along by the fountains. 

And faint was her silver horn. 

Now Apollo his steeds down the blue steeps 

Drives fast, and the serpentine 
Pale line of the myrmidon mists creeps 

O'er meadows and copses green : 

Now stars are faint in the golden 

Deep glow of the darkening skies, 
Oh, fly with the stars thro' the olden 

Dim path that the swallow flies I 

Silene, who fleeth the bright day. 

How green is our Latmian hill I 
Now winds thro' the groves breathe a soft lay, 

And the cavern is dim and still : 

Sweet dreams o'er my eye-lids hover, — 

Be thou to me more than a dream ; 
Oh, break thro' the slumberous cover, 

Come with thy silverly gleam. 



28 SON^GS. 

Lo, warm on my lips thy kisses, 
And soft as ^olian gales, 

When the asphodel, reviving old blisses. 
Bursts billow-like o'er the vales. 



IIN" THE PARK. 

I saw thy banks, sweet river, clothed with green ; 
The golden leaves bent to thy dazzling blue, 
And there the crested jay-bird's rivalling hue 
Was briefly mirrored in thy placid sheen. 

The weeping-willow drooped its pendant spray, 
The sumach spread its mottled scarlet cloak, 
And gay leaves fallen from the towering oak, 
Along the slopes and in the hollows lay. 

A pungent perfume chilly breezes bore. 
The thistle shook abroad its flossy hair ; 
The acorn and the hickory-nut were there. 
To drive grim famine from the squirrel's door. 

The fountain, like a noiseless ghost, stood white 
Against the sunny background of the sky ; 
Far on the blue horizon could descry 
The silhouettes of bare trees on the height. 

The cawing of the solemn -coated crow 

Dropped listless down the depths of purple haze ; 
A touch of frost upon the crimson ways 
Proclaimed the coming of a conquering foe. 



INVOCATION TO SORROW. 29 

" THE SEASON OF DEWS JlND STARS.'' 

BALLATA. 

Thitherward by the crystal streams 
And cowslip meadows go ; 
Sweet shells will there breathe low 
The music of the shining land of dreams. 

Now golden Hesper sinks below the rim 

Of azure sky and now the fair young moon, 
With silver glances piercing coverts dim, 

Makes dewy fields and shadowy ways to swoon 
With light ; and whiles the western wind's bassoon 
Sounds in the tree-tops, eastward may behold 

The warrior Mars, on pathway trophy-strewn, 
His scarlet banner to the breeze unfold. 

Thitherward by the crystal streams 

And cowslip meadows go ; 
Sweet shells will there breathe low 

The music of the shining land of dreams. 

INVOCATION TO SORROW— RONDEL. 

Come, Sorrow, be my friend, and dwell with me ; 
Thou hast been true when dearer ones denied, 
When others failed, thou hast borne company, 
Henceforth as friend abide. 

Tho' grim-visaged thou art, and solemn-eyed, 

All the sweet uses of adversity 

Thou hast taught, watching thro' the lone night-tide ; 



30 SONGS. 

The Beautiful, the Dear, by land or sea, 
Are faithless gone and fleeting, far and wide , 
Thou, thou alone, thy pale face turned to me, 
Keepst mournful guard beside. 



G0LDE2T CASTILE. 

Oh land. Oh land, immortal, radiant realm, 
Glimmering star-like where the billows rise, 

Like Sirius or Algol, thro' mist and gloom 
Thy glories fall upon our dazzled eyes. 

Oh Paradise, thy winds have blown to us 

Sweet savors of the violet and palm, 
Of rose and orange, and all fragrant plants 

That breathe upon the air their spicy balm. 

And, sighing still, when stars gleam o'er the waves,- 
Land of blest pilgrimage beyond the sea. 

Bring us to thy calm shades and solitudes. 
Land of soft rest and dreams, bring us to thee. 

For there pale dawn brings not return of tears, 
Nor shades of night regret for by-gone days ; 

Glad is the pomp of thy bright morns, and night 
Sees stars pass gleaming down eternal ways : 

And all thy homes are golden palaces. 
Whose towers scale the bluest heavenly height. 

For they are heaven-built and their high walls 
With beryl, pearl and sardonyx are dight. 



LOVE SONa. 31 

Oh land, Oh land, where shining spirits dwell, 
Thro' amber mists thine angel forms arise; 

Adown the long blue vistas slanting bright, 
They come and go, they look down with sweet eyes. 

How oft weVe seen the tall waves mount the sky. 
Above the bloody sun, and heard the wind, 

Blow fierce across the foam: and all our cry 
Was for the happy land — the bright, the kind. 

Our dearest entered there — long, long ago ; 

In tender dreams their last kisses we feel, 
And still, their voices call across the seas — 

** Come join us in the bright land of the leal." 

Why should we buffet more the driven surge ? 

We are so weary, desolate and chill, 
Oil. lead us where celestial music sounds — 

Beside thy fountains clear, Golden Castile, 

LOYE SONG. 

Oh my dove, my undefiled. 

My fair one of the gentle eyes, 
Tell me whither dost thou stray. 

Tell me where thy covert lies ? 

All day thro' forest and thro' field, 
. Sorrowing have I sought thee, 

All day thy tender tones have lured 
, My steps o'er mountain and o'er lea: 

And now the stars are born again. 
And daisied meadows have grown dim, 

My foot is weary and 1 seek. 
In vain for thee within the rim 



32 SONGS. 

Of purple left us by the sun ; 

Now, too, the darkening air is still, 
And thy love-calls no longer woo, 

The night-dew on my locks is chill ; 

Oh my dove, my well-beloved, 
Say where thou fliest with the sun ? 

All night my soul faints for thy love — 
Oh bid the agony be done ! 



AK AUTUMN PETITION. 

My darling, why dost thou delay return ? 

The summer that hath been so gay, is o'er, 
And in the burning bush the oriole's nest, 

Deserted hangs, and by the reedy shore, 
Of yon low lake the golden-rod's in bloom; 

The silken thistle flies upon the breeze, 

The flame of autumn flecks the forest trees. 
Oh love, it hath been summer whilst thou stayed, 

In distant lands and thy return delayed: 

And now so long have I awaited thee. 

So long, oh sweetest love, with wistful eyes, 
Expectant turned on every flaming dawn. 

That drove the Day-star from the Eastern skies. 
So long hath twilight mocked me with vain hope, . 

Alas, I have grown weary and my heart 
Kejects with sorry plaint the watcher's part; 

My love, the frost is on the fields, oh haste. 
With thy dear presence cheer the wintry waste ! 



THE HILLS OF LYNN. 33 



THE HILLS OF LYISTN. 

We wandered down the Hills of Lynn, 

My love and I together: 
Cicalas, chanting fine and thin, 

Made musical the heather; 
Within the vale the lamps, like stars, 
Shone in the dusk, and ruddy Mars 

On high his pennon floated: 
O love, O love, a song-bird there 

Sang for us, silver-throated. 

O pleasant are the Hills of Lynn, 

In summer greenly growing: 
When stars the twilight ushers in 

The reapers from the mowing 
Come whistling homeward thro' the glade, 
And each one watches for the maid 

To him most dear and pleasing, 
While down the lane the loaded wains 

Creak after, loudly wheezing. 

The Hills of Lynn, to me so dear, 

How shall I tread them lonely ? 
My sweet love is not with me here, 

Yon moon marks one shape only, — 
One shadow drawn across the grass. 
Where once were two — dear love, alas, 

Fd fain be here laid sleeping; 
For wandering down the Hills of Lynn, 

Alone, sets me aweeping. 
3 



M SONGS. 

The Hills of Lynn, O the Hills of Lynn, 

Where we used to walk together ! 
I wish me dead on the Hills of Lynn, 

At the end of the golden weather: 
I wish me dead in a cold, cold shroud, 

Deep imder the withered clover. 
For since he has gone has come a cloud 

The golden hill-slopes over. 



THE WOOD NYMPH. 

I sat alone in the crimsoning wood, 

Alone in my heart's meditation; 
Nor insect nor bird was anywhere heard, 

But the sunbeams in silent filtration 
Glanced thro' the oak-trees' fluttering leaves, 

And winds sighed a slow salutation. 

The opaline air breathed bright overhead; 

Below, the slow streamlet's miniature tide 
With soft silver tones crept over the stones 

And rippling anon down the mossy hill-side, 
Fell into a basin rimmed with ferns 

And spangled with daisies pied. 

Afar on the height slept the lazy blue haze. 
To which had the sun given fringes of gold ; 

So silent its rest on the hoary hill's crest, 
It seemed to have stolen from regions of old, 

Where on the Nile's wrinkled bosom, in dreams, 
The yellow-leaved blossoms unfold. 



BALLATA. 35 

Then, as I looked, lo the curtaining shade 
By lingers unseen was lightly withdrawn, 

And there, half asleep in the cleft of the steep, 
Lay a spirit akin to the sylphs of the dawn, 

Who dance to the music of Pandean pipes, 
On the dew- wet and shadowy lawn. 

A spirit akin to the sylphs of the dawn ! 

Oh, fair was her face as the Phidian stone ; 
Her long lustrous hair, loose, golden and fair, 

Over the snow of her shoulders was thrown, 
And under her eye-lids' shadowy blue 

The soul of sweet Cupid saucily shone. 

BALLATA. 

TO A CAGED BED-BIBD, SINGING AT NIGHT. 

Singing of birch and hazel shades, 
All the night long, poor prisoner ? 
How sweet, in the green prime o' the year, 

To rove on scarlet wings thy native glades ! 

As turning on my pillow at midnight, 
I hear thy clear and silvery pipe, sweet bird, 

Then dream I of the thatch where the rose blows bright, 
And pale new leaves, with silken rustle stirred. 
Makes answer to the brooklet's gurgling word; 

Thro' their burnished emerald drips the fihny gold. 
And the breath of pines and dew-berry blossoms white 

Fills the throbbing air with perfumes manifold. 

Singing of birch and hazel shades, 
All the night long, poor prisoner ? 
How sweet, in the green prime o' the year. 

To rove on scarlet winirs thy native glades I 



36 SONGS. 

THE FLIGHT OF HOPE. 

Now yonder where that diamond Star 

Betwixt the gold and sapphire rides, 
White wings I saw, that flashed afar — 

'Twas Hope that clomb the swelling tides ; 
An hour ago her large een shone 

On me, now 'cross the midnight skies, 
Hailing each seraph singer of the starry zone, 

She voyages toward Paradise. 

A SONG OF THE SEA. 

A song of a maid on the white sea-beach. 
As far as ever the eye could reach 
Were shifting billows and pale sea-foam : 
(Fly, beautiful wings, Oh, fly thou home). 

The sunlight danced on the sapphire sea, 
The clouds blew up and the breeze sang free, 
And over the leagues of pale sea-foam 
The silver sea-gulls drifted home. 

Silver sea-gulls and sapphire waves ! 
But far out yonder the storm sprite raves, 
While o'er the billows and pale sea-foam 
A fair ship's sailing blithely home. 

Ye ho. Ye ho ! the sailors sang, 
A white dove o'er the waves she sprang, 
And under the billows the mermaids spread 
Long yellow sea- weed for a bed. 

Silver sea-gulls they dip and soar, 
Sapphire billows sing round the shore, 
And under the sea-foam lie the dead. 
On the yellow sea-lichens outspread. 



AT THE CATHEDRAL DOOB, 37 



TEANSITOEY— RONDEL. 

Thy colors, rainbow, gainst the gray, 
Too soon they go, too soon they go ; 

In track where flees the dying day 
Soon fades thy iridescent glow. 

The young mid-snmmer moons that sow 

With gold the ripples of their way, 
Too transient is their shining show. 

But these, the angels of delay, 

Sweet passions that our fond hours know- 
More dear, more brief, their tender sway — 

Too soon they go, too soon they go ! 



AT THE CATHEDRAL DOOR. 

Sweet voices issue from the dark cathedral. 
And sweet neath the arches the organ notes swelling, 
Where penitents lowlily bow them in prayer : 
** O Lamb of God who taketh 
The sin of the world away, 
Have mercy on us." 

Now over the tower hangs the moon's sickle — 
Thin, silveiy and dim, with one star companioned : 
In the silent blue air leaves silkily flutter : 
'* O Lamb of God who taketh 
The sin of the world away. 
Have mercy on us." 



38 SONGS. 

Since sunset, far have I journeyed thro' darkness, 
And shadowy pathways, fragrant, dream-haunted : 
Like the gateway to heaven the loved temple gleams: 
" O Lamb of God who taketh 
The sin of the world away, 
Have mercy on us." 
Give us thy peace." 



TWILIGHT SILHOUETTES. 

Where the shadowy gloaming softly steals 
Along the wind-blown willowy slopes, 

A sound of mourning doves murmuring sad appeals ; 
A sound of bells that chime and call 
From airy heights of ivied belfrys tall, 

Where mounts the star on silver wheels. 

Where swallows darkly rise and dip 
Across the rising moon's red shield, 

A sound of honey-bees about the roses' lip; 
A sound of flutes from far away, 
Where dark against the gleaming verge of day, 

The swallows nimbly soar and dip. 

Where the shivering witch-elm gauntly throws 
Her weird shape on the wasted sward, . 

A sound of crickets where the scarlet lily blows ; 
A sound of fountains neath the leaves, 
A sound of whispering thro' the tawny sheaves. 

Where the slim witch-tree's shadow grows. 



THE SHADOWS. 

OUT OF tune—Rondel, 

I'm out of tune; the day goes drear, 

The skies are not of June, 
Tliere's neither sun, nor song, nor cheer, 

Because I'm out of tune. 

Dead roses on dead grasses strewn, 

Gray clouds and blown leaves sere, 
Wild winds that with rent boughs commune. 

The grave, the winding sheet, the bier, 

The Judge's strict tribune, — 
Thoughts of these bring nameless fear, 

When I am out of tune. 



THE SHADOWS. 

See the shadows, dark, fine-drawn and wavering; 
So bird-like they hover, caressing the ground, 

Of nodding leaf and spray 

The images beautiful. 

Here oft I walk sadly at evening. 

The great stars watching with mystical eyes; 

And under my wandering feet 

The hovering shadows swing. 

The wind sings a song in the oak-leaves, — 
Sings sadly, methinks, of halcyons gone, 
And stars in their azure homes. 
Look down with mystical eyes. 



40 SONGS. 

The cricket chirps in the grasses; 

Sweet rises the fragrance of hidden flowers. 
Unhappy, I wander and weep, 
With secret sorrow oppressed. 



THE QUEEN'S MAKIE. 

Oh why did I grant thee this, 

The longed-for kiss ? 
Oh why against thy breast 
Suffer my cheek to rest ? 
Did I think to shield from harm 
It was that thy tender arm 

Drew me to thine embraces ? 

K you know, yet you will not say; 

I had looked away, 
Lest thy fondly passionate eyes 
Should prevail o'er me, and thy sighs 
Sweep from me my wavering pride, 
Like sere leaves blown aside 

In mad euroclydons. 

But again the old, old tale — 

When I saw thee pale 
With stress of reproach and passion, 
Then, vanquished in no new fashion, 
I heeded thy oft-urged plea 
And at last I granted thee 

These bitter-sweet reprisals. 



THE WIND SPRITE. 41 

THE WIKD SPRITE. 

Ah, friend, do you hear the windy blast 
Sobbing along the cold, dark fields ? 

It drives before it, hard and fast, 
The thistle-top and fading leaf. 

Ah, friend^ do you mark the hollow cry 
In the chimney and round the eaves ? 

It is like the wail of men who die 
Upon the deserted battlefield. 

The stars with frost are faint and pale, 
The moon hangs low upon the hill ; 

The wraiths that wander, shivering, 
With cries the echoing forest fill. 

The dead lie on the withered ground, 
With cold, white faces heavenward turned; 

Pale are the wind- sprites gathered round 
To sing their mom*nful requiems. 

The wind creeps through the bleak sand-bars ; 

It finds among the willow trees, — 
Stark, staring into the misty stars, — 

A drowned man in the blackened ooze. 

He stares into the misty stars. 
Outstretched and cold upon the sedge; 

The wind creeps thro' the bleaching bars 
And scatters leaves about his head. 

Bethink you how the hill-side tombs 
Shine far athwart the cypress shades ! 

And there, in midnight's icy glooms, 
The sad wind wanders up and down: 



42 SONGS. 

It wanders among the pallid stones 
And lightly treads the glistening rime; 

May' St hear what melancholy groans 
It utters o'er the unheeding dead. 

Both near and far, in ghostly round, 
That Spirit passes in the night, 

And they that waken at the sound 
Shudder and seek companionship. 

A warm hand in the darkness bleak, 
A touch of sweet humanity, 

Or but a soft breath on the cheek. 
To cheer the unearthly loneliness. 



TWAIK— THE DOUBLE STARS. 

Sweetest sister, thou art fair 
Smiling thro' thy gilded hair: 
More than sister, sweetest heart, 
We can never live apart ! 
Twain, in loyal rmion one, 
Before the moon, beyond the sun- 
Thus we sail the bubbling sea, 
Forever joined in ecstasy. 

O God of Destiny— whatever power 

Is sovereign of man's brief, unhappy hour, 

What gift have I desired of thee but death ? 

The stilled hand and heart, and lips whose breath 



THE CHORISTER. 43 

Is spent forevermore ? Only dumb peace, 
Quiescent restfulness and sweet surcease 
Of grief! Not glittering gold, nor glory, I, 
Kor fame have sought, nor with the proud to vie, 
But only this— a boon so small — to sleep 
Among the shades, without a dream to creep 
Into the close cells of the drowsy brain 
And burst its crumbling filaments in twain. 



THE CHOKISTER. 

Into the Chapel came my love 

To sing with the choir one holy day; 
Each window there was a chrysolite, 

Tall angels marking the shining way 
Where sunbeams thwarted the azure gloom; 

My love looked up, and in his eyes 
Was the hue of violets dusk in bloom. 

He saw not me nor the angels tall, 
Nor the fisherman walking upon the wave, 

But, crowned with halos, the blessed one, 
Stretching His tender hands to save. 

In the midst of the holy place I heard 

A sound of pipes played soft and low. 
And the choir aloft in the golden gloom, 

Responded with voices sweet and slow; 
Lilies and roses dreamed beneath. 

The roof was azure studded with stars. 
And o'er the censer's fragrant wreath 

Was writ in gold a word of God. 



44 SONGS. 

He saw not me nor the angels tall, 
Nor any face of the waiting throng, 

With eyes that dreamed on fairer heights, 
His soul ascended with his song. 

And as he sang, it seemed to me 

I heard the heavenly choir draw near, 
I heard the rustle of soft wings, 

I heard the harps and cymbals clear; 
Oh, as he sang my sorrow ceased, 

And on my heart descended peace, 
And like a prisoner released, 

It joyed once more in liberty. 
Oh, sweet his voice, upsoaring light, 

Till in the vaulted arch it rang — 
Methought 'twas seraphs' songs I heard, 

When with the choristers he sang. 

But he sees not me nor the waiting throng. 

Nor the roses symbolizing love ; 
Neither dark nor fair, with dreamful eyes 

Beholds the form of a snowy dove. 
With outspread wings 'gainst the violet shade, 

Hovering high in the air above. 



THE ROSE. 

There, royal blossom, golden rose, 
Go, nestle in your last repose ! 
Dim is this tiny grave you fill 
And very shallow, very still; 



THE KOSE. 45 

Go, take your rest — you've done your part, 
You've brought his message, won my heart; 

Here, withered, pale and dead, you lie, 

Sweet rose of one fond memory: 

This morn you lay against his breast — 
Ah, happy rose, for such a rest ! 

Then, looking down with eyes so blue, 

*' A little gift I have for you," 
He said, and gave the rose to me : 
And, now, I wonder did he see 

The kiss pressed on these petals fine 

And guess the passion in that sign ? 

I wonder why my heart should ache ? 
Do hearts, for careless friendship, break ? 

Indeed I merely meant to flirt, — 

Yet, somehow, somewhere, something's hurt! 
Oh, golden rose, beneath the skies 
Never saw I sweeter eyes. 

And, ah, what wealth would not I give, 

Only in their light to live ! 

L' ENVOY 

There, be hidden, golden rose, 

Be buried in your silent tomb : 
Heigho ! before the moons of June, 

He will have plucked another bloom 
And heard the nightingale's low time 

A dozen times, while you and I 

In dust and darkness pine and sigh. 



46 SONGS, 

THE MOON-FLOWER. 

The light is flying; now the silver dew 
Descends, and forth the moon peers from the blue; 
She sees the pale mists creeping thro' the vales 
Where willows ever whisper plaintive tales ; 
When all the world is shadowy and calm 
And all the drowsy air is filled with balm, 
Then the moon-flower does its gleaming bell 
In leafy bowers display: Oh, wilt thou tell 
What charm or spell or what unearthly power 
Hath called thee to the magic of this hour ? 

The light is fading; now the silver dew 
Descends and forth the moon peers from the blue; 
She sees mid shades below an answering face 
As fair as hers and curved in youthful grace; 
Oh sweetly tell us, melancholy maid. 
Why dream you sadly in the lonely shade ? 

Methinks for hopeless love you pine and sigh, 
Gazing so wistful from your window high. 
And musing of the dear elusive bliss 
That clings unto the sweetheart's greeting kiss* 



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